


Thank You, Sir

by Morgana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caning, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Sam needs a firm hand, and Dean's not about to let it be anybody's but his</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thank You, Sir

Three days and still no leads. Tempers were beginning to get short, nerves strained almost to the breaking point, and when Sam, the original research geek, couldn't sit still while they tried yet again to find out what was making this place's teenagers go catatonic for hours and wake up speaking weird languages, Dean knew that something needed to be done. After enduring the local librarian's glares and suspicious walk-bys for the better part of two hours, Dean slammed the book Sam was pretending to read shut and dragged his brother out of the library. All in all, it added up to a dead end.  
  
Unfortunately, Sam didn't handle dead ends well. He never had, but ever since he'd gotten his soul back, it had gotten worse. But at least Dean knew how to handle it. He couldn't help the teenagers, but  _this_  he could do something about.  
  
He pulled into the parking lot in front of their room and looked over at Sam, who was practically plastered against the car door. "I'm gonna pay for a couple extra nights and get some food," he said casually. "Why don't you head on in, take a shower or something, and kick back?"  
  
Sam mumbled an answer that really didn't matter and got out. Dean watched him go into the room before he pulled out and headed for the nearest burger joint. He ordered four double cheeseburgers to go and got an order of fries to eat while he waited. Ordinarily he'd have gotten fries with the order as well, but most fries sucked when they got cold, and they weren't likely to get to eat while it was hot. Not tonight, at any rate. Once his order was up, he paid and took the bag out to the car, tossing it on the passenger seat as he slid behind the wheel. He took his sweet time going back to the motel, swinging by the gas station to fuel his baby and grab a few sodas on the way. By the time he pulled up to the room again, it'd been almost an hour since he left.  
  
Dean grabbed the bag with the burgers in it and walked up to the door. He didn't bother trying to get his key out, just turned the knob and walked in. Sam was kneeling naked on the carpet at the foot of the bed, head bowed and eyes down. His own belt lay in front of him, along with the paddle they'd picked up a few states back and a thin, flexible rod that made Dean stop and look at it. "You sure about that one, Sammy?" he asked, nodding at it.  
  
"Yes, Sir." Sam didn't look up at him as he replied, his voice quiet and clear.  
  
"Okay, then." Dean set the burgers down on the table and shrugged out of his jacket. "On the bed, hands and knees." He didn't bother with any teasing - that would be for later. This was for Sam; Dean would get his turn later as well.  
  
Sam scrambled up onto the bed, all arms and legs, and for a second, Dean was reminded of the skinny kid he used to be before he filled out and turned into a freaking giant. Not that it mattered - he was still Sammy, still Dean's, and that was all that mattered. Dean walked over to look at what Sam had laid out for him, looking them over out of habit, even though he already knew which one he was using. There was no question about that, and he was willing to be Sam knew it.  
  
Hell, it was probably why he'd put the damn thing out there in the first place.  
  
Picking the rod up, he ran his fingers along it, then reached down to adjust the hardon that had been there since he'd first seen it sitting out on the floor in front of his brother. "Hope you weren't planning on being too comfortable tomorrow," he said, tapping it against his leg as he turned back to face Sam.  
  
There was no answer, but he saw a shiver run through him, and that was as good as a shout for someone who'd been reading Sam as long as Dean had been. "How many you think you need, huh?" He stroked a hand over the swell of Sam's ass, petting him almost absently as he waited for the reply.  
  
"As many as you want to give me, Sir."  
  
The sharp crack of Dean's palm on his skin let him know what he thought of that. "You know better that trying to weasel out of this with that kind of shit, Sammy. Try again."  
  
"Ten?"  
  
Another hard swat. "You've been a colossal bitch for the last three days and you think that ten's gonna get you out of it? Last change, Sammy. Give me an honest answer, or sleep on the floor until you beg for it."  
  
"Thirty," Sam admitted in a low voice. And Jesus, Dean had known he needed to reign him in, but he hadn't realized he was _that_  far gone.  
  
He licked his lips. "Okay, thirty it is. And let's start with a thank you, just so you can show me how much you appreciate what I'm doing for you."  
  
"Thank you, Sir," Sam obediently parroted.  
  
Without giving him a chance to brace for it, Dean brought the antenna down on his ass, one hard stroke that raised a bright pink welt on both cheeks and drew a surprised cry from Sam. "You know the rules," Dean barked. "Count it off, or it doesn't count."  
  
"One, Sir!" was the immediate response, and Dean smiled, rewarding him with two lighter strokes.  
  
He switched it up a little, keeping it fairly light with a few harder blows, until he finished the first ten. Then he paused, smoothing a hand over the pink curve of his brother's ass. "You ready to tell me what's been getting to you?" he asked casually, although he really didn't expect him to break so soon.  
  
Sam shook his head, then moaned when Dean laid a hard stripe over his upper thighs. "Eleven, Sir!"  
  
Dean concentrated the second set on his thighs and the underside of his ass, all the places that would hurt twice as much tomorrow, especially given that he wasn't going easy on him now. He watched Sam shifting on the bed, rocking into some blows and away from others, and when his voice broke as he cried out, "Twenty, Sir!"  
  
This time Dean slid his hand down between Sam's legs, fingers teasing over his balls, dragging back to press lightly over his hole. Sam moaned and tried to press back against him, but Dean pulled away from him. "Not yet. Gotta talk to me, first."  
  
"I - I can't." Sam's breath was hitching, and Dean knew without having to check that he was rock hard. "Please, I - I need -"  
  
"Shhh, it's okay," Dean soothed him, rubbing one finger hard over his hole. "Know just what you need, Sammy. Gonna take good care of you, I promise."  
  
That was what it came down to: taking care of Sam. He needed this, needed to have Dean drive him to the edge of control and beyond, and Dean was all about giving Sam what he needed. Most people wouldn't have understood it, but that was okay. Most people didn't have to live with memories of Hell or a fucked-up year without a soul, so they wouldn't get how physical pain was needed to help Sam deal with the emotional pain. And nobody was going to hurt Sam but Dean; that was just unthinkable. He'd promised to look out for Sam and take care of him. It was his duty, one he'd signed up for long ago. The fact that it was fucking hot and resulted in some of the best orgasms in his life - well, nobody ever said that duty couldn't be fun.  
  
Five in a row, right on the tenderest parts of his ass, as hard as Dean could make them, and Sam was sobbing by the time he reached twenty-six. He hadn't called for a stop, though, so Dean put another two down, one on each cheek, criss-crossing the other welts already there, and Sam was going to have some serious trouble sitting for several days, but that was obviously what he needed. Twenty-nine was high up on the curve of his ass, and thirty right over the bottom, and Jesus, Dean was about ready to bust out of his jeans with the way Sam was panting, gasping like he'd run a fucking marathon.  
  
He dropped the rod and popped his jeans open, unable to wait any longer. He just had to feel those welts against his cock, wanted to rub off on them until he came, fucking against Sam's ass until he was shooting all over it. And fuck, that was hot enough to make him moan as he pulled his dick out and reached out to close one hand on Sam's hip, tugging backwards until he had scooted far enough to let Dean press up against him. "Tell me," he panted, thrusting against him. "C'mon, Sammy, tell me."  
  
"The last one," Sam burst out. "She was speaking Enochian. She said - oh, God, Dean -" He moaned as a hand landed hard on his ass, and corrected himself, "Sir - please, Sir - she said I belonged in Hell, that I was damned and -"  
  
He was stopped by Dean's fingers. "Shhh, that's enough." He pressed against Sam's lower lip. "Open up, get 'em good and wet for me." Dean might've wanted to get off against the welts, but Sam needed more. He needed the connection that could only come from Dean inside him, and Dean wasn't going to give him less than everything.  
  
Sam immediately opened for his fingers and started sucking on them, tongue working against them like they were his dick. Dean groaned and thrust against him again. "Easy," he warned, gritting his teeth against the temptation to forget everything except how good it felt to rub against his brother's ass while he sucked his fingers down. He held out as long as he could, then pulled his fingers away, earning himself a wordless pleading whine from Sam. "You want me to fuck you, don'tcha?"  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
"Then shut up and spread for me." Dean rubbed the pad of one finger against his hole while Sam shifted, widening his stance, and as soon as he was open enough, he pushed it in, all the way without stopping. Sam moaned and shoved back against him, wordlessly begging for more, and Dean didn't make him wait long until he gave it to him.  
  
Two fingers, shoving and twisting as he worked him open, while his dick twitched eagerly against Sam's ass, wetting the stripes there with precome. He pinched one of them as he rammed his fingers into his brother's prostate, and Sam let out a sob that verged on a howl, his whole body bucking forward and back. "God, you look hot fucking yourself on my fingers like that," Dean muttered. "Think you're ready for my dick, Sammy? Want me to fuck you?"  
  
"Yes, Sir! Please... please, Sir, need it," Sam babbled, rocking on his fingers again. "Need it so bad, Sir, gotta - oooohhhh, gotta have it."  
  
Pulling his fingers out, Dean spat in his hand and stroked his dick. It was going to be rough, with just spit and precome, but he couldn't stop long enough to get the lube, and he was pretty sure that one of them would spontaneously combust if he tried. He slicked himself up as best he could and rubbed the tip over Sam's hole just to hear him sob, "Please!", then pushed in, slow and steady, listening carefully for any sign that he needed to stop. It might kill him to do it, but he knew he'd try if that's what Sam needed.  
  
Thankfully, Sam was every bit as needy and hungry for it as he was, because he opened right up for him. Dean moaned and ground against him once he was completely inside. "Feel that, Sammy? You want that, my dick inside you?"  
  
"Yeah," he panted, rocking forward, too wound up to wait for Dean to start fucking him. "Fuck me... please, want you to fuck me hard... Sir." He was losing it, almost too far gone to remember the 'Sir', but Dean was right there with him, in no condition to remind him, especially when Sam pushed back on his dick and moaned like it was the best thing he'd ever felt.  
  
"Gonna fuck you good," he growled, grabbing Sam's hips and holding on tight as he pulled back and started to fuck him. He dug his fingers in tight enough that Sam was going to have bruises tomorrow, but considering what his ass was going to feel like, Dean doubted a few extra marks would matter. Reaching forward, he pressed on Sam's neck, forcing him down so that Dean could drive right into his prostate, the resulting yowl making his balls draw up tight. Christ, he really wasn't going to last much longer.  
  
"Come for me, Sammy," he gasped, shoving in hard and fast. "C'mon, lemme feel it."  
  
Sam managed to hold out for another four or five thrusts before he was shaking and screaming Dean's name as he came all over the bed. Dean wasn't much better - he lasted maybe two minutes after that and he was a goner, filling Sam up with a low groan. He barely managed to drag Sam down to the floor with him when his legs gave out. Two hundred-plus pounds of Sammy landed almost in his lap and Dean grunted, but didn't push him away, just wrapped his arms around him and kissed the side of his neck.  
  
"You okay?" he asked quietly, stroking one hand down to squeeze his ass gently.  
  
Sam nodded, burrowing into Dean like he was trying to get into his skin. "Thank you, Sir." This time it wasn't a rote recitation, but a heartfelt thanks, offered in a quiet, grateful voice that never failed to make Dean's heart threaten to skip a beat. This was why he did it, why he'd do it anytime Sam needed him to, and why he'd never, ever be sorry for it.  
  
Dean laid a hand on his brother's face, tilting his head so he could bend down for a kiss. "Anytime, Sammy," he told him. Whatever it took to drive the demons out of his brother's soul, he'd do that and more, just to see him like this, pliant and relaxed and  _happy_. He should probably think about getting them cleaned up and back onto the bed, but right now he was enjoying the aftermath, basking in the sweet, soporific aftereffects of orgasm, and he wasn't too inclined to move. Plus, he was pretty sure Sam would kill him if he tried.  
  
It had always been his job to take care of his brother, no matter what. And if that meant they were both going to Hell, like that stuck-up angel bitch said, then so be it. At least they'd go together.


End file.
